


Don't Leave Me High

by solonggaybowser



Series: Contra Punctum [2]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: (no one actually dies it's ok), (transelot), M/M, Pre-Relationship, Trans Male Harry Hart, Trans Male James, a Singular passing mention of masturbation, autistic percival, confessions of variable gravity in the face of apparently imminent death, harry's here too. just hanging in the background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 03:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18112706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solonggaybowser/pseuds/solonggaybowser
Summary: "Hey, listen, I have got to tell you..."This had better be good; James had better say something extraordinary, or else Noel would have no choice but to ask him to be quiet."I know we don't know each other very well, but I amsoglad you're here right now."





	Don't Leave Me High

**Author's Note:**

> edit 4/26/19: minor Content Update

_"Well, this is it, isn't it?"_

In spite of the fervent objections raised by his stiff neck and bruised body, Noel was beginning to come around.

_"Only six years of service... Now that's just shameful..."_

He groaned and did not stop groaning. Opening his eyes was a labor nothing short of Herculean; upon its completion, his epic reward was a stunning view of the ground some tens of feet below his own person—sans tie, jacket, trousers, and gadgetry, and duct-taped to what he was unhappily certain was a nuclear missile.

His life was in peril, yes, as were the lives of untold numbers of civilians... but he had to wonder if any other Kingsman in history had ever been subject to such an evocative image of their own monumental failure. Probably the current Galahad and Lancelot, he figured, if they were also taped up somewhere in much the same manner.

"Hey... Hey!" a voice called out from where he couldn't see. Noel was sure he had hallucinated it during his miserable awakening but, apparently, it was real. "Is there someone else on this bloody missile with me?!"

Oh... he knew that voice. So Lancelot _was_ nearby. Great. "Yes," he grunted, trying not to let too much of his frustration show. Even though at this point it hardly mattered—quite soon, sooner than he would have liked, he would no longer feel frustrated, or indeed anything at all. But...

Well, it wasn't that he hated James, and after years of maintaining a professional distance between them, it wasn't even that he didn't like him. James was just one of those people who could be... a bit much. Suave and self-assured to a degree _just_ past the "annoying" cutoff... At the same time, he was a highly skilled agent, and he did seem genuinely kindhearted, which could not be said of every knight. It felt bad to think badly of him; regrettably, under the circumstances, Noel lacked the wherewithal to not do so.

Oblivious to any of that, James cried out, "God, there is! All right, so sorry, but remind me who you are?"

Noel tapped a fist on the missile in an agitated rhythm—his final moments and he couldn't even stim properly. If he could just move his arms a little... _Blimey,_ he thought, thunking his head on the missile. Now, if his aggressors had restrained him more conventionally, that would've been one thing, but _no_ : they had to go so _completely_ out of their way to ensure that enough motion would free him then promptly hasten his imminent death. It was diabolical, positively sadistic...

"Uh, you—you're still there, right?" James attempted again when Noel, lost in thought, did not answer.

"What?" he asked as soon as he registered a voice speaking to him; following a hasty mental reconstruction of the context, he scrambled to reply, "Oh—I—Percival. Agent Percival."

"Right, right! Percy, Percival... Noel. You know, I always thought you had such a lovely name."

"Thanks," he said, unsure of what would be a more appropriate response and also indifferent to formulating one.

"Noel," James all but sighed the syllables with a dreamy lilt. Noel cared only to enjoy the briefest respite from conversing with James—until the man, infuriatingly, kept talking. "Hey, listen, I have got to tell you..."

This had better be good; James had better say something extraordinary, or else Noel would have no choice but to ask him to be quiet.

"I know we don't know each other very well, but I am _so_ glad you're here right now."

Noel frowned thoughtfully at the horizon, his hands now busy with worrying the hem of his shirt (which was, he was finding, almost as good as his suit fabric). "You are? Truly?"

"Yeah. Because it means I won't die alone." Noel strained to hear as James quietly explained, "That... that's my greatest fear, in fact. Dying alone." Leaving no time at all for his words to hang in the air, James hurried to continue, "Are you—Do you have any last words, Noel? Anything you need to get off your chest?"

Immediately his thoughts shifted from James's unexpected gravity and to Roxy, the daughter that, for the first four years of her life, he had no idea existed. If it was pragmatic to keep her at arm's length due to his line of work, or if he should have made the effort to play a bigger role in her life. If he should accept that he did the best he could given her mother's wishes, or if to do so would be giving into complacence. If Roxy, now 12, was going to miss him or not and which would be worse. He didn't know where to begin or how to put the words together.

So what he actually chose to say was, "I am sick to death of Noel Gallagher."

"Why, I'd imagine so!" James guffawed, and Noel couldn't help but be pleased about cheering him a bit. "Oh, my. A veritable dream team, we have here: Noel Gallagher and James Bond. Harry Potter's over on the other missile." He laughed again. For once Noel almost felt like laughing with him. "I have a confession to make, if you don't mind. Another one."

"Go on."

"I... I love Radiohead."

"Radio...?" Noel murmured, uncertain if he had heard correctly. "Like, the band?"

"Yes! Oh, they're my favorite!" The definite grin in James's voice vanished so quickly. "I just... hate to admit it. Everyone always tells me, oh, they're too depressing, how _can_ you stand them, James?"

Wholly sincere, Noel stated, "That's awful of them. If you love something, embrace it."

"Thank you! _Thank you_ , Noel. Finally, someone reasona—..."

He turned his head as far to the left as he could. James remained out of sight, as did whatever might have caused the interruption. "James...? What's wrong?"

"Um, well... Harry is... There's no other way to say it: he's grabbing his willy."

"Um," was all Noel could think to say about that.

"Now, I do admire the audacity of tossing off one last time before you perish in nuclear armageddon, but I just can't fathom being in the mood in these conditions."

A thought occurred to him, one that he had to express carefully. Back in training, his sponsor Harry had told him a little about his transition. (Noel had voiced his admiration of Harry's social grace; Harry revealed just how late in his life he learned the manners of a gentleman.) Noel wasn't sure if James was also in the know... Just because James was fairly open about his gender didn't mean Harry was as well. "When you say, grabbing his... willy... do you mean..."

Fortunately, James picked up what he was putting down. "Oh! Oh, that's _right_! My god, he must have something up his sleeve! (Or, down his pants, in this case.) He just might salvage this mission after all!" His voice turned uncertain when he then said, "Look, if you could just forget all that nonsense I said..."

"Your secrets are safe with me. I promise."

Noel might not like James... that much. But this, he could do for him.


End file.
